Autumn has gripped summer and refuses to let go. October pulls the hot blanket of August over itself at night. November lazily tries on the Halloween-like, scorching outfit of October. As if afraid to freeze, the Atlantic stubbornly gathers the warmth of the sun’s rays and boils the water to body temperature. The air diligently warms the leaves, preventing the trees from shedding their unnecessary clothes for the winter. The branches bloom with flowers in defiance of the efforts of the hardworking gardener, zealously working with a chainsaw.
And I, criminally, help summer stay until winter, gathering branches with red fragrant flowers and placing a bundle of July in a green vase, pretending that November might never come.
4o mini